


Only the Moon Howls

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Dark, F/M, Future Fic, Incest, Multi, Pydian is past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia deals with being a single mother and her children make their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Moon Howls

**Author's Note:**

> To day this is probably the the most 'wrong' thing I've written and posted, and I find myself both nervous and curious to know what you all think. And despite what you might think this _isn't_ inspired by [Rantsofafangirl](http://rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com/) but instead by [Notpepsi](http://notpepsi.tumblr.com/) who basically sent me an ask about Single Mom!Lydia and yeah. . .this happened. . .
> 
> Title comes from the George Carlin quote "There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls."
> 
> Finally a Trigger Warning for some suicidal thoughts in Lydia's portion of the story.

Lydia sat in a worn wicker chair on the porch, attempting to pull an old thick blanket around her waist, still steaming mug of hot white chocolate and lavender in her hands. The cold winter air bit at her cheeks and nose, but she hardly noticed as she made herself comfortable, taking a sip of her drink once she'd finished; enjoying the calming, creamy taste.

The snow beyond the house hadn't exactly be thick on the ground but that hadn't stopped the children from making a mess of the yard: a half built snowman looked like it was about to keel over, divots were everywhere –evidence of the spirited snow ball fight from earlier, and of course the patches where the mud beneath had started mixing with the snow above. But she didn't care about the less than perfect start of her view, she wouldn't change it for the world.

More snow began to fall as she watched, attempting to return the world to it's previous pristine state. Not that it would have much luck considering she could hear singing fast approaching; those who'd gone off into the hills in search of Yule logs returning, at the very least to return her own children. Despite her general melancholy mood, brought about mostly by the fact that it had been nearly ten years since she'd left Beacon Hills with nary a look behind her, she couldn't help the small smile twitching at her lips as the singing got closer –many of the singers expressing more emotion than actual talent.

What seemed to be about half the Yates Cry, then again the Yates believed if you could do it alone it wasn't worth doing, came striding over the nearest hill, children dashed about –some even tumbling down the hill– eagerly trying to join in with the singing or trying to help some of the adults pull their logs.

“But a great hart came running without any guile;  
With there he goeth–there he goeth–there he goeth;  
Now we shall have game and sport enow!

I had no sooner my hounds let go  
But the hart was overthrow;  
Then every man began to blow,  
With trororo–trororo–trororo,  
How we shall have game and sport enow.”

A general cheer went through the crowd as they ended the carol and reached the bottom of the hill; two small forms broke away from the crowd running towards her pell mell. The one in the red parka, Jordan most likely, nearly ran into the mailbox post, but quickly corrected and loped up the stairs alongside her brother.

The two of them crowded around her chair, at least old enough now to immediately refrain from pulling her out of her seat. “Mom, mum! We found you the _biggest_ Yule log,” In Peter's enthusiasm the hood of his purple coat slipped off, his dark auburn hair, and impossible blue and green odd eyes shining in the pale sunlight.

Reaching out she ruffled it lightly, dog like he arched up into her touch, a soft smile danced across her lips. “Did you now?”

Jordan nodded vigorously, throwing off her own hood revealing dark brown hair and the same eyes as her twin brother. “Yeah! Great Uncle Elijah and Greatgrandma _both_ had to drag it.”

Her smile grew a little, though she felt certain Elijah and Celia were humoring the nine year olds more than anything. Though she's grateful for it, and the fact they'd welcomed her in with open arms when she arrived on their doorstep six years ago with two seemingly fearless three year olds and a prayer that she might find some measure of peace with the extended family Jordan never met; and that they gladly watch them on her bad days, days when she can barely get out of bed or days when all she can see when she looked upon her children were their dead fathers.

An insistent tug on her arm yanked her from her thoughts. “ _Mum_ , you made the hot chocolate right?” Jordan asked dramatically enough that Lydia wondered if she'd cry if she said no.

Instead she slipped out of her blanket and stood. “Of course. Now come on, help me get it set up.”

The twins cheered in delight and raced to the door, Peter reached it first and threw it open –Lydia would fear for the wall behind it if it weren't already dented from previous decades of excited children.

She followed at a more sedate pace, closing the door –though a quick glance behind told her everyone else was nearly there anyways– and picking up the discarded winter wear of her kids.

“Muuuum,” they called out, clearly wanting her to hurry up.

With a soft sigh of affection she entered the kitchen and went to the stove, turning it on and putting her double boiler back on. “Can you two start getting down mugs for everyone?”

They hopped to with enthusiasm, eagerly chatting about their journey over the moors and all the things they saw. Their voices are soon joined by a whole multitude as the rest of the family returned and joined them in the kitchen. Celia, Roslyn, and Trevor soon joined Lydia in the cooking half of the kitchen, pulling out pre-made food and setting it out.

Everyone gladly lined up for the meal and hot chocolate; she'd made Jordan's –the man not the girl– favorite out of wretched nostalgia, though she felt certain almost everyone would appreciate the peppery bite on this cold a day.

The conversation died only a little as everyone talked, some about heading into York to finish Christmas shopping, others about delivering the rest of the Yule logs to the other houses on the Yates' giant parcel of land –Lydia's own home being one of them, everyone else about the preparations that needed done for the first Hunt of the year on Christmas, and interspersed through it all the excited chatter of children.

As usual the kids finished first, about half of them started stripping down to nothing, the other half quickly following, not an uncommon sight to Lydia since she'd joined the Yates; and soon the kitchen was full of what the locals called Barghests, but to be more accurate were Cŵn Mamau, but that everyone in the Cry just called 'hounds'.

With a twitch of a smile Jane got up and let them all out.

Her children looked mournfully after the rest of their 'littermates' as they started cavorting in their hound forms in the snow. “Mum _please_?” Both she and Peter turned sorrowful odd eyes at her, and she found herself crumbling a little.

“Fine.”

They cheered and quickly stripped naked before shifting gracefully into forms that weren't quite wolves, but not truly hounds either. This difference was even more stark when they joined everyone else: their coats dark where all of the Hounds were in shades of whites, tans, and reds and their size and frame more comparable to a Caucasian shepard or a wolf than the more greyhound shape of their cousins. She also knew from experience that the twins were heavier than the other hounds, something many of the other adults found amusing for some reason.

Not that any of that seemed to matter to the children as they played in the snow together, well except for the fact that two or three of the Hounds had to gang up together to 'take down' Jordan or Peter; and that after enduring far too many punishments Peter and Jordan had finally stopped biting their 'littermates'.

But still Lydia worried, hounds and werewolves didn't exactly interbreed on a regular basis, and outside of _maybe_ Jackson down in London she didn't know any werewolf nearby well enough to ask them questions about raising pups.

It made her hate Jordan and Peter a little for leaving her, for dying when they should have lived. She _missed_ them, with a soul crushing ache that hadn't diminished in the ten years since. Being with Jordan's family, who granted hadn't known Jordan but that was part of the reason she'd sought them out, helped enough that she didn't ever feel like killing herself; if it hadn't been for the twins she probably would have committed suicide in those first three years, but as it was she'd mostly resigned herself to the idea of dying an ancient old woman, and then, if there was any justice in this world, she'd find herself with her men once more.

-

_Seven years later_

Jordan curled herself around Peter's sleeping wolfhound –when they'd gotten old enough to realize there was a difference between themselves and the rest of the hounds their age they'd nearly called themselves dire-wolves but mum'd put her foot down– form, carding her fingers through his ruff. Even in sleep he nestled a little closer to her and gave a happy canine sigh.

She knew school was starting soon and she should return to a normal sleeping schedule, but sleep eluded her and she felt restless. With a sigh she got up, Peter made a sound before rolling into the spot she'd just occupied, and went in search of Keith, who'd left the bed earlier, for a reason that was probably stupid, and wandered off; she was naked but that hardly mattered, what with mum off on one of her shopping trips.

His pepper and sulfur scent lead her to mum's lab, where he was gently nudging aside vacuum sealed bottles of various thiols in his, she sniffs no Peter's, boxers. “What are you doing? You're not supposed to be down here without mum.” None of the Cry were, mum had too many dangerous chemicals here for even adults to go unsupervised; even if he was mum's apprentice.

Keith yipped and whirled around, elbow knocking over a jar of liberty caps, which he quickly scrambled to catch before it could hit the ground. He succeeded and as he set it back where it belonged he glared at her. “Shit Dan, don't _do_ that.”

She returned the glare, “what are you doing down here?” She asked again.

“There's something down here that your mum tried to hide from me this morning and I want to see what it is.” He turned back around, as if that was that, and started rooting around again.

Her hackles began to rise, mum kept things to herself for her own reasons, and even if she and Peter were dating Keith that didn't mean she'd let him go rooting around in mum's secret things. With a rumbling snarl she strode towards him and threw him over her shoulder. Which earned her a snarl in return, but really compared to her mum's Disappointed Stare it was nothing –that stare was nearly enough to actually make her feel guilty.

When she reached the nearest comfortable vertical surface, the couch in the living room, she tossed him onto it before falling on top of him, basically pinning him in place. He tried to escape but she stopped him by setting her teeth on his neck.

A growl rumbled in his chest, and she gave him a shake; he was going to fucking submit to her or she'd do something she'd might even regret later.

He froze, then she felt him relax beneath her and his neck stretch between her teeth as he bared it completely. After a few more seconds she released him, rubbing her cheek against the faint marks she'd left in a vaguely conciliatory manner before shifting up to give him a kiss. “Good boy,” she murmured as they broke apart.

“Dan. . .”

She felt her eyes flare to that shade of yellow-orange completely unique to her and her brother. “ _Don't_ Keith. We _like_ you, don't fuck that up by nosing in business that isn't yours.” She and Peter were fairly certain they couldn't _love_ , but that didn't bother them; nor did it seem to worry Keith all that much. To forestall any other thing he might say she leaned down and kissed him, bruisingly hard.

Which seemed to be about the time he realized she was naked, if his hands landing on her back and the subsequent sound of surprise was anything to go by.

Her own hands wove themselves into his thick golden blond hair, forcing him to change the angle of his neck. When they broke apart she turned her head slightly to pant in his ear. “I'm, going to, fuck you senseless.” She punctuated her statement with a happy moan when his nails bit into her back.

Shifting her legs a little she began using a foot to push down his boxers with practiced ease. Keith grunted a little but canted his hips. “Crow's _teeth_ , really?” She loved it when she could make him sound wrecked without doing anything; then again don't think she hadn't noticed the fact that he'd started getting hard when she was manhandling him.

A wicked smile danced across her lips as his finished with his boxers. “Of course.” Reaching she grabbed the length of his cock and lining him up sunk down in one firm motion.

“ _Fuck_.”Keith's hands flailed for a moment before one landed on her hip and the other the back of the couch.

Jordan just rotated her hips. “Mmmm, always feels wonderful.” Keith was long, longer than Peter even, long enough that she could feel him bumping up against the entrance to her cervix –a sensation that a lot of the girls at school claimed was not fun but that Jordan kind of loved– though in her most curious moments she'd never been able to get him _in_ her cervix.

Because she could she rotated her hips again, causing him to groan, before leaning forward enough to rest her hands on his chest. Thus situated she started riding him in earnest, crying out in delight the first time his hips slammed up to meet hers. Keith tried to rise up, perhaps to switch their positions, but her hands bearing most of her weight kept him firmly in place.

Footsteps upstairs made her ears twitch, but unless they'd gotten a burglar in the past ten or so minutes it was only Peter and that wasn't anything to stop over. In fact. . .she threw her head back and let loose a shuddering cry as Keith rubbed up against her g-spot.

Peter's footsteps got closer and soon another pair of hands joined Keith's on her back. “Having fun?” Peter's breath was hot against her neck and wrenched a grunt out of her as she slammed hard onto Keith.

“Always,” she hissed out. “Little brother.” Mum hadn't actually ever told them which was 'oldest', insisting that it didn't matter; so Jordan swapped 'little' and 'big' as she pleased, usually depending on how horny she was feeling.

He laughed and moved, drawing a shout from her when he latched onto the nearest breast; sharp teeth digging in just enough to add an edge of pain. “Yes!”

Happily she let her orgasm crash over her, squeezing Keith so tight he started cumming as well. By the time she pulled herself off him he'd gone completely flaccid and she mock pouted. “Well that's no fun,” reaching down she stroked him a few times. “How am I supposed to fuck you senseless when you go soft?”

Keith just groaned helplessly, seemingly trying to arch into her touch and get away from it at the same time.

Giving up on him for the moment, he'd be hard again soon enough, she looked down at her brother, still happily latched to her breast. “Come on, lie on Keith and let me fuck _you_ senseless big brother.”

She could see his eyes gaining wisps of yellow-orange as he let go. “Anything you say sis.”

Keith grunted and squirmed as Peter joined them, clearly trying to get comfortable with so much weight on top of him. Peter shifted down and towards the back of the couch a little more, meaning he and Keith could probably make out while she satisfied herself.

Jordan gave Peter even less warning than she had Keith, just grabbing him and guiding him in in one rapid motion. “Mmmm, fill me right up big brother.” With the few singular partners she'd had she'd never talked so. . .pornily, but these two loved it and she found it a little arousing herself.

Soon both of their movements started turning jerky and erratic. “Come on,” she panted after a wonderfully vicious thrust. “Plant in me,” she met her brother's eyes, _her_ eyes. “Give me a pup,” she punctuated her command by jerking herself down sharply; she could feel Keith's own erection rising up between Peter's legs to prod at her ass.

Leaning down she panted harshly into both Keith and Peter's ear. Rapidly inhaling their combined scents of pepper-sulfur, and musky fire. “Give me a fucking _litter_ of them.”

She had _plans_ damn it, and she needed a few pups to really get them into gear. Give her two decades and this Cry was going to be _hers_.

Give her another decade and she'd be undisputed Alpha of Beacon Hills.

**Author's Note:**

> The carol the Yates are singing is ["As I walked By A Forest Side"](http://www.hymnsandcarolsofchristmas.com/Hymns_and_Carols/as_i_walked_by_a_forest_side_froude.htm).
> 
> Cŵn Mamau (Hounds of the Mother) is another name for the Cŵn Anwn.
> 
> And fun fact of the day: while a group of wolves is rightly called a pack, a group of dogs should actually be called a 'kennel' and a group of hounds is a 'cry' (hence the title for the Yates).


End file.
